MISS RYN: A LIFE EVOLVING - CHAPTER 11 free porn video

CHAPTER 11

The next morning started perfectly.

I stirred on the crowded bed, becoming quickly aware of where I was and who was with me. The images flashed back at me from the night before. The guys bring Dori and me to climax on their mouths and tongues; we bring them to climax with ours; and, our foursome when we all participated and climax nearly together. What a glorious night. Dori had been riding a high like no other. She seemed to be in heaven with the new awareness of her body and her body’s reactions, not to mention her new ability to bring pleasure to the men.

Dori and I were on the outside of the bed. I got out and moved around the bed to Dori’s side. I touched her shoulder and her eyes opened and, seeing me, there was an immediate smile. I kissed her upturned face. She then looked over her shoulder at the men in the center of the bed. She smiled. There was no confusion in her attitude. She knew exactly where she was and why. The smile grew bigger as I put out my hand. She took it and I eased her out of bed.

Downstairs we busied ourselves making coffee, slicing some fruit, and arranging some light pastries. We took everything out to the patio under the covered patio table, put our feet up on the unused chairs, and relaxed with our coffee. It was just idle chatter, mostly about Dori’s experiences last night. We didn’t hear the guys and flinched when we suddenly had arms around our shoulder, our breasts cupped, and our heads being kissed. I glanced at Dori and saw that she reacted the same way I did. Her hands were on the ones holding her breasts and squeezing them in more firmly. I turned my head up to receive a real kiss and got one immediately. That was from Jesse and it was repeated shortly after by Albert.

We were still naked and everyone seemed very comfortable with that, including Dori. At one point, she got up to refill coffee mugs. The guys said she didn’t need to do that, but she just smiled. As she leaned over to pour, she placed her breast near their heads and received a quick kiss on the side of her breast. As she straightened up, she dragged her hand over the chest of the man. Each one getting the same treatment.

After the coffee was gone and the conversation went unusually quiet, I started to rise thinking it might be time to change something. I was wrong. Jesse reached out and put his hand on my left shoulder. He rose and stepped behind me, his hand never leaving my shoulder. He bent over, nuzzled my neck, and kissing it and my shoulder. At the same time, his hands slipped over my shoulders, down to my breasts, and fondled them. My head was bent to the opposite side, reflexively giving him more room to kiss.

I looked across at the others and they were intently watching. If the fondling wasn’t enough, the watching was. I shivered noticeably. Then, one of his hands slid down my stomach to the V between my legs and they opened without my conscious thinking. I was always ready to accept that; I was a sexual being, but apparently, the others were becoming just as comfortable with the notion. His hand slid between my legs and down over my lips. I gasped. One touch and I was already ready to gasp. I knew the others were watching, but let them. God, I loved sex! And, more so when it is with someone, or ones, who you love and want to be with. I sucked in a breath when his finger flicked my clit and moved down to my hole and slipped inside. He stroked in and out several times, brought it out, and used it to rub my clit, and retrace its route back up my body, ending at my mouth. I sucked on it like a wanton whore. I knew, and everyone at the table knew, I tasted the remains out our activity last night and it turned me on. While I sucked, he pinched my nipple with his other hand.

I raised my head to him and he covered my offered mouth with his. We kissed, ignoring the others at the table. This was Jesse! I had been the initiator before, the encourager … now, this man was the initiator. I loved what was happening.

With his mouth alongside my head, his hands still cupping my breasts, “Miss Ryn … you realize by now that we can’t stop calling you that. Or, that either Albert or I would be good at dominating you. But, it should also be obvious that we all love what is happening here. We feel we understand much better your evolution. That is giving us more freedom to exercise ideas without domination. You are very accepting of things. Dori is accepting of things. Our life is good and only going to get better.” He covered my mouth, again. He pinched both my nipples and I thought I might actually cum. “I sense there isn’t much more to tell about your evolution. Sure, there is a lot of years, but … that’s different from there being a lot of change that affect what we do together. If that is true, let’s just finish it.”

I gasped, again. He was still playing with my nipples. I looked at the others and they were watching and smiling. I grabbed his hands and kissed the palms, relieving my breasts and nipples of that delicious torture. I pulled his head down and kissed him hard, then looked at the others. They were clearly in agreement.

“Okay! You are right, the story can conclude now. But, you didn’t really have to try to manipulate me with pleasure.”

“Dear, Miss Ryn. I wasn’t. I just love your body.” He had a sly smile on his face, Dori giggled, which caused Albert to laugh. Soon we were all laughing.

I joined in but rose from the table, “Okay, then, but I have to pee, first.”

“Can we watch?” I turned quickly at them. I didn’t know if they were serious or not. And, even now looking at them, I couldn’t tell for sure with all the laughing that was undoubtedly at my reaction. I shook my head as I retreated back into the house.

Everyone was a little over exposed from the sun yesterday, so we elect to remain on the shaded part of the patio, under a roof that also is part of the balconies for the bedrooms above.

* * *

I had just become Ryn. No longer was I Lauryn, the young woman who came to the estate in search of an ill-defined job. I was now expected to become and be Ryn, the dog-bitch.

The collar would now be the only thing I wore, at least for the 6 days a week. On the seventh, Sunday, I would be allowed more flexibility of my comfort and dress, or not, by my choice. That would be the time for evaluation, discussion, and revitalization.

We agree on the details of the expectation, my availability to supplies, medical, and other benefits coverage and pay compensation. An account will be established in my name when I start and the moneys will be direct deposited into that account. A review of that account can be done during Sundays. Mr. Thrower would cover an initial medical exam for me. Then discrete exams periodically to be sure that the activity with the dogs is not creating a physical problem for me. I thank him for the consideration and try to maintain an even expression, but it occurs to me that the very reason why that might be necessary in his mind could be very real. It was one thing to experience so much fucking over the past two nights and single day, but what is that going to be like for six continuous days and nights before some respite? I was suddenly a bit apprehensive, once again. And, I was very thankful for the continued consideration he and they were having for me. That consideration weighed heavily in regaining some comfort in continuing with this crazy adventure.

The question then becomes, when can I start? I have belongings back at my apartment, not much but some things. I am nervous about a delay until the lease runs out and prolonged time to rethink what I am doing here.

“I could start right away, except for my things in my apartment, a lease for the rest of the month and next month that I will lose the payment on, and quitting my current job. It might take some time to travel back, organize things, pack, and somehow get things moved here. I’m not sure how all that would happen.”

They do. Mrs. Taylor offers to drive me to my old apartment. They will pay the fee for breaking the lease. I will quit my job at the bar, and we will then return. Packing will be easy; I don’t own that much, since the apartment was furnished. It is about a five hour drive one way. She proposes that we leave Monday morning after a good rest, plan to spend a night on the way “home”. I will have the use of a bedroom that was originally designed to be the living quarters of a maid. That will be my room for Saturday nights and any privacy I want on Sundays.

The phrase, ‘return home’ grabbed me as I listened. It seemed strange to really accept the concept of thinking of “home”, when my primary living space will be the kennel. It seemed just a bit too crazy. But, that was what this would be and that thought didn’t escape me as we planned and made the move.

That Sunday, I had access to the house, pool, and patio. I really never had access to something like a pool where I lived and I spent hours in it. I did so nude. Part of it was that I didn’t have a swimsuit and it made no sense to go get one. I had a perfectly good one back at my apartment but the reality was that I was going to spend virtually my new life being naked. Why be timid in the pool?

The next morning, Mrs. Taylor and I head out early in the van. I learn that the van is used primarily only for hauling things and not that often. It is in perfectly fine running condition but the ride is somewhat rough. Normally, it is only used for hauling the dogs in their crates to the vet or for kenneling when they are all away from the estate for an extended time. That and the occasional use for furniture purchases, etc. So, I try to get comfortable in the stiff, basic passenger seat. A five hour drive was ahead and it now seemed like such a long way. As my mind wandered with the awkwardness of a new travel companion, the experience of being in the semi-truck with Floyd came back and I smiled warmly. That unexpected experience had set the tone for emotionally escaping the torment of my family. How very odd, that a stranger can release your spirit to soar when your family tried so hard to confine it.

The trip and time in the van turn out to be easy. The initial awkwardness of the first hour or so is the tension from Mrs. Taylor who is still feeling discomfort about the expectation of what I am going to be doing for them. But, once conversation does start, it becomes easy and casual. She pointedly asks me why I would take on such an experience as what Mr. Thrower offered. Some of the other girls were whores, thinking they could do anything sexually. Others were only focused on the money and they could do anything for that kind of payday. None of them got very far. She was, therefore, puzzled by me. I seemed to just go into it with comfort and, while the money was nice, the money didn’t seem to be the motivation.

We talked extensively and I finally told her that maybe it would be easier for her to relate to me if I told her something more about my life that could lead me to making these decisions. She looked at me thoughtfully, her eyes frequently returning to the road, but she could see there was a lot to come, that needed to come out, and she might be the only one who had a chance of understanding. We spent much of the remaining trip in that way, with me telling my story and she inserting comments and questions. She doesn’t just learn my story and come to some understanding of me, we become closer. In a way, that trip together set us up to becoming friends. But, the full acceptance of that would still need some time to realized and accept.

Returning on Tuesday, mid-day, they thought a clean start on the following morning would be reasonable. That was nice of them, but when I walked out onto the patio and the dogs saw me from the kennel area, they clearly had other ideas. On the one hand, I could just go down there and play with them. My body was thinking something different, though. Did I really want to go down there to just play with them? Wasn’t I just as interested in renewing that unusual connection with them? That Saturday experience had been special and I knew what was lying ahead of me. Why wait for the next morning?

Without saying anything to the others, I returned to that little room and removed my clothes, placing them on the unused bed, the boxes of my stuff remaining unpacked. I walked down the slight hill, once again naked, barefoot, and energized by my own expectations of what was to occur next.

When I walked into the kennel building, I used the door towards the house and left it open. I moved directly to the double doors on the side opposite the stalls and opened them wide. I then opened each stall, which released the dogs. I was immediately surrounded with bouncing, tail wagging dogs, each licking my legs excitedly and giving soft barks of greeting. Talk about feeling welcomed.

I took them outside into the yard to re-establish our rituals. I had determined that establishing patterns, rituals for our experience together was going to be the key. I know that in a real pack one of the males would come out as alpha and that even in pet relationships there were particular breeds that required firm control and trainers often referred to the pet owner taking on the role of alpha so the dog knew who was in charge and what was expected. I had the further sense that Mr. Thrower was expecting that the introduction of a bitch into the grouping would create a pack situation and one of the dogs would become dominant, taking charge of the rest and certainly over me. My experience thus far had already told me that it wasn’t going to happen that way. But, I also realized that without some clear control over the group it was likely to be chaos. So, I was going to take that control.

I learned from Mrs. Taylor during the drive that Mr. Thrower, being an amateur writer, had a story idea that wasn’t fully developed that involved a woman and dogs. More specifically, it seemed to involve a woman who was somehow lost in the wilderness, how was unclear, and was confronted by a pack of wolves. In his interest in how would that play out for the woman or the wolves, he came up with the idea of trying in real life but in a controlled and safe condition.

I didn’t think he was going to learn what he expected from my living with the dogs as their mate. The dogs weren’t wild, they weren’t interested in controlling each other, much less me. They were, however, very much interested in mating. And, perhaps, that would be worthwhile enough for Mr. Thrower in pursuing this experiment. I walked with the dogs into the yard, they taking off to sniff out the known areas and seek out new scents from any other a****ls that might have come through. I had no question but that I was going to be actively mated. If that wasn’t enough for Mr. Thrower and this ended sooner than later, at least I had the understanding of further schooling or a job here or somewhere. I figured any real job would beat the experience of working a bar and constantly hit on … and my giving in to those flirtations too easily.

I also had the sense that there was something else about Mr. Thrower or the situation that was being held back. I had come to believe in Mrs. Taylor, maybe too quickly, but I did. If it was critical that I know it, I did trust that I would be informed. So, I relaxed about that feeling.

That day back was frantic. The dogs came rushing back to me, sniffing me, licking me, and hardly leaving my side. I knew I wanted to get back into the rhythm as much as they did. The a****listic, easy expectation of fucking anytime and anywhere was intoxicating. It might at some point wear off; it wasn’t close to doing so at this point. I considered going back to the clearing and the tall grass and considered that the location we matted down before might become well used. I smiled. But, that was really too far into the woods and my feet still needed to toughen up to make the trip quickly. I looked up at the house and didn’t see anyone watching, but I was sure someone could be or would be at some point. But, I wanted to be outside, again. The active consideration of mating with the dogs and being out in the open doing it was tremendously exciting for me. I knew that was a primary part of the experience and excitement for me. The house close by or the potential of someone walking upon us or not, that was going to be a preferred way for me. And, I didn’t think the dogs would mind one bit where it happened.

Even though the idea of being outside was extremely stimulating for me, the idea of being a public spectacle in view of the house was still something I needed to get accustomed to. So, I led the dogs to the other side of the kennel building from the house. It was there that I mated with the dogs, again. In the process, I re-established a significant part of our relationship. Then, I immediately added another part, that of care-giver. Each of the dogs got a bath that turned into a rump in the large galvanized tub I filled with water. They weren’t the only ones getting a thorough soaking. And, that led to more licking, which led to … but, I still needed to be careful or the dogs might never want to stop mating. Was that even a possibility? They have certainly been active with me, but not that much.

My life settled into something of a routine. The dogs in fact didn’t feel the need to mate constantly, despite my concerns. Generally, at some point during the day we mated and then at night. The rest of the time was spent in interesting ways, at least to me. I found it very restful, actually. I never paid attention to how much dogs rest and sleep. But, their play and exploration time is very active, which leads to periods of very active to periods of lazy and rest.

It had been over a week and I had my first Sunday at the house. I wasn’t sure how it would be going back to the kennel after enjoying the comforts and food at the house, but I found the dogs were compelling companions. There was no artificiality with them. They wanted to be with me for the simplest of reasons: I was their bitch and that had become very comfortable; I was their primary care-giver, providing them with the basics that they needed, including food, grooming and exercise; and, I was their leader of sorts, I gave them direction and control. I found even on that first Sunday that I was on my way naked back to the kennel several hours before sunset. Over time, I would be spending even less time at the house than was allowed by our agreement.

Life became so simple with the dogs. There was the simple expectations from them and myself, but there was more. My life was just simple. My diet was simple but good and healthy. The exercise with the dogs and generally being outside and in motion did amazing things to my body. I became tanned over my entire body in the first week and a half. I got dirty without even trying, running in the yard and sweating, being on the ground to rest and mate, and chasing down paths in the woods. I found a new routine that included a shower each night at the outdoor shower. It was more of a challenge on night when it wasn’t quite as warm. But, even that was a thrill. This was my life, warm or cool, I had to adjust to it, and I found that I could pretty easily. The cool mornings, I stayed inside longer and then found the sun. The cool, rainy, and cloudy days had to be active. It was an amazing realization to me the first time that running around in the rain and mud didn’t bother me as much when it was just me getting wet and muddy. Without clothes and shoes to be ruined, it relieved a lot of concern. Plus, the dogs didn’t care that my hair was matted down, that I had mud on my knees and arms.

Being fucked by the dogs during a thunderstorm and outside was surreal, but was so amazing. We had been out in the woods and with the trees overhead, I didn’t notice the storm clouds coming in. When it became overcast, I just ignored it. It had been a hot day and not having the sun actually felt well. We were far from the house when the first lighting shot across the sky and it was close when the thunder clap struck almost immediately. We were too far from the kennel to make a run for it, so we sought some cover where we could. And, where we could was under a pile of fallen trees from a previous storm, maybe even a past hurricane. It wasn’t completely dry, but it wasn’t completely wet and exposed to the wind, either.

We had been caught in the first sudden downpour of rain and it continued to come down in sheets, lighting flashing continuously, and the thunder claps were like those senseless neighborhood fireworks parties that drives everyone else crazy. The dogs shook to drive off the wet and retreated further under the logs after the thunder. I was soaked, my hair plastered to my head, neck, and back. With the sudden storm, the temperature dropped. It was no longer a fun adventure. Not only wet and bothered by the lightning and thunder, now we were getting cold. The dogs were moving closer to me as the storm continued, so I reached out and pulled them into me. We were a tight little group, huddled against Mother Nature’s wrath. I was finding some relief from the cooler air with the dogs pressed against me on all sides. They, however, were very bother. They shivered and twitched. It wasn’t the cold for them as much as the lightning and thunder.

They were looking at me with those eyes, like they believed I could do something about all this. My mind, how does this happen, but it flashed through my mind what I was and what I wasn’t. I was their bitch, I was comfortable with that, already. And, they were more than comfortable with that. But there was something else. I was also something of the control. I didn’t know if I was the alpha, but maybe. It also occurred to me that a real bitch would be huddled in the same fear and tremors as they were. I was different. I might be their bitch, but I was also human and I knew what was happening and what to worry about. With them pressed into me, I started kissing snouts, then lips, then stroking them, and finally touching their sheaths. That was something they were very familiar with and even the storm had a hard time competing with this new distraction.

The really neat part of being a bitch, you are always naked and ready. Since the first day on that first trial weekend, I don’t know when I wasn’t constantly aware that one of the dogs might want me. Even when they didn’t, the thought that they might was enough to keep me nearly constantly wet and ready. This, was not an exception. Despite the chill and the rain, I was always ready. The dogs seemed to respond to the attention and I continued, ramping it up in an effort to let them forget the storm. It didn’t seem to take much, I touched one, another, and the third, and they were all showing cocks.

I wiggle around the cramped quarters and presented myself. It no longer mattered to me which one I presented my pussy to, I knew that once one was on me, the others would follow in their turn. And, this was no different. When Cole, the Lab, jumped onto my back and start thrusting, everything seemed to become instantly calmer. Maybe not calm because we were now into a fucking frenzy, but not the fear of the storm that had been dominating the group. By the time we were finished, the storm was past. While being fucked by one, I licked and sucked another. Before long, I forgot about the storm and from the actions of the dogs so did they. It became a crazy scene, I am sure. That is, if anybody would have been equally crazy to be out there in order to see it. In the moving around, all concern for the rain was lost and by the last mating, we were half exposed to the rain. After cumming that last time, still tied to Ora, I pulled and cajoled him to move back under the trees and out of the rain.

When the rain abated enough, we ran, jumped, and zig-zagged the entire distance through the woods, crashing through brush and undergrowth until we intersected the trail, again. Then it was a run for the kennel. That seemed to energize the dogs, but we were four mammals with soaked hair and mud and pieces of leaves and grass plastered to our lower bodies. Inside the kennel, I moved to the electric heater and for the first time turned it on. I then went out to the back, turned on the outdoor shower at a hot water temperature, and stood underneath it. I called the dogs to join me, but they were reluctant. I got each to come to me just enough to work off the worst of the dirt. Of course, they shook their bodies constantly, but the hot water cascading over me felt wonderful. The fact that I was outside, exposed to the world, always added an element of stimulation. As comfortable as I was becoming with being naked as part of my life, I still had these feelings about it. Perhaps, a human not raised to be naked would always have that in the back of their minds.

We finally made it to the river after my feet became accustomed to the ground covered with sticks and dirt. It was another of the more interesting days early in my experience. I was so accustomed to being naked no matter where I was on the estate property, that this day was bound to happen. I was determined to find the river and maybe even doing some swimming in the slow current. This adventure was no different from any other in my mind as we trekked through the wood. Once, again, my body was getting scratched from my feet to my hips. Every now and then, I even carelessly brushed up against a low branch that caught me on the side, even a breast on occasion. These treks through the heavy woods with no trail were dangerous on my body and took several days and numerous applications of ointment by Mrs. Taylor for complete healing. It was just another indication, though, of just how much I was treating myself like one of the dogs. Mrs. Taylor would regularly ‘tsk tsk’ me and plead with me to be more careful, but I also had the sense that she enjoyed the time we had together, her applying the ointment to my many scratches as we talked.

This day, though, was unique because of the presumption my mind had become accustomed to. It never occurred to me that I might run into strangers. My approach to the river was natural and without caution. I crashed through the last of the thick undergrowth along the river bank and stepped out to the edge of the bank itself. Out on the river at that exact moment were four teenagers floating down the river on inner tubes with another tied up carrying beer. They didn’t look old enough to be drinking but they definitely were. And there was me, stark naked, standing in front of them. I admit that my hands and arms wrapped around my breasts and crotch but I was still naked, four drinking boys, and a long way from home. The boys started pointing and calling out to me, then the comments got cruder and the beer was having a false confidence factor on them as they started for the shore and me. The thought did come to me in that moment of what they thought might happen if they got to shore, but they never got that far, of course. Suddenly, crashing through the same underbrush were my three males. The boys were now facing three large, barking dogs. They looked at the dogs, back to me, but the deciding factor was always going to be the dogs. They drifted off down the river. I just waved to them and felt wicked.

My experience with the dogs as their full-time bitch and companion lasted nearly three months. That time seemed both short and long for different reasons. While in the experience, the time seemed to fly by; once it started to end and I began resuming something of ‘normality’, it seemed to have been a long time. During that time with the dogs, even around the house I seldom wore clothes except for the comfort of the others at meals.

It was Mr. Thrower who ultimately was the cause of the ending of the dog-bitch experiment, but not in the way he might have thought. His behavior became even more erratic. There would be times that he might wander down to the kennel, find me with the dogs naked, and start screaming at me, calling me names like ‘whore’, ‘pervert’, and ‘slut’. The first time it happened, I was shocked and humiliated. Mr. and Mrs. Taylor heard the commotion and came running, taking Mr. Thrower and leading him back to the house. Confused and agitated myself, I didn’t know what was happening until Mrs. Taylor returned shortly to explain everything.

Mr. Thrower had been diagnosed with dementia. It was the reason they had been hired and brought here from the UK to begin with. They had special experience with dealing discretely with such cases. Being a wealthy and somewhat eccentric man, his advisors convinced him that would allow him the best care. Since my arrival, he began slipping more rapidly. It had nothing to do with me, my presence, or the activities. It was just timing, the unpredictability of that disease.

He continued to have good times when we would interact on Sundays and he would take notes as though he was still going to write that story. Then, there would be times when his mind would see me really as one of the dogs and would react to me that way. While on the patio, he might call to the dogs and the first time it happened, he continued to call until it was clear to us that he wanted me to go to him, kneeling at his side so he could pet me, just like he had the ‘other dogs’. In a sense, it became bizarre, he would scratch behind my ears, stroke my hair and side as I leaned into his chair. He would rub my stomach and I even started rolling onto my side or back for him to rub my stomach like the other dogs. He would coo at me and fuss. But, it was always just rubs, never sexual in any way.

I became his favorite very quickly and the Taylors began paying closer attention. They became concerned that in his deteriorating condition he might react badly at some point, again. When he started insisting that I come up to his bedroom and lie on the rug next to his bed, the Taylors decided to take some action. That was when my life changed at the estate. I went from pretending to be the bitch and his favorite pet to his full-time care-taker. I wore clothes to make the distinction. When he asked about his dog, we talked around the topic. He was understanding and remembering less and less. But, he was gentle and kind. Even when he got frustrated and upset for not remembering or even knowing where he was or who we were, he was always gentle. I read more and more about the disease so I could be of better help and the Taylors assisted in my understanding and preparation for the coming stages. One of the things that I read and stayed with me was a comment about the patient’s personality. It was believed, at least by that writer, that the patient’s true personality could come out in the experience of dementia. If that was true, then Mr. Thrower had a wonderfully kind and gentle personality.

Besides working with me in caring for Mr. Thrower and taking care of the estate, the Taylors also managed his other affairs, including communication with his lawyer and financial interests and foundations. His condition was largely kept private, as was his wish. His moments of lucidity, which were increasingly shorter and less frequent, provided them, his attorney, and financial advisor the directions they needed. In addition to less and less time of clear thinking and remembering, his physical health began deteriorating at nearly the same rate. It was shocking to see the quick changes in the man. But it was during this time that my relation with him really solidified. Whether he was aware or not, I was always available. For the year that I helped the Taylors and was his primary care provider, I changed from him mistaking me as his pet to his nearly constant companion. I read to him and recounted stories from his past that I found in journals on his bookshelves.

When he died, a quick deterioration that required him to be hospitalized, and an even quicker deterioration once he was in the hospital, it left an emptiness at the estate that none of us could quite believe. It was as though his illness had taken a life inside the estate and the removal of that by his death left a void that the three of us had a hard time dealing with. We had some reprieve from a head-on dealing with it, though, by the legal and financial issues of the estate upon Mr. Thrower’s death. The estate was kept in order and the various foundations and organizations he supported were funneled through his attorney or advisor.

In the meantime, we stayed busy but there hung over us the feeling that this was the end and we would need to prepare for leaving the estate, which we expected to be taken by some distant relative or dissolved in probate through sale and distribution to his inheritors. So, it was with significant trepidation that we drove to the attorney’s office when notice came that all three of us were required to meet with him. We were taken to his office and shown to three chairs lined in front of a large oak desk. Once seated, we were provided with water and a large paper document of many pages. We were surprised that we were given documents, but the secretary only said that he would explain everything.

It was only moments when the attorney entered and greeted each of us by name and offering his condolences. We had known him from his many visits with Mr. Thrower, those meetings occurring more frequently at the estate as the illness progressed.

We were confused by each of us receiving a copy of what we assumed to be the will. It had to be a half inch thick. Over my transition into the house and taking care of Mr. Thrower, the Taylors became George and Helen to me, while I remained Ryn to them. Ryn became a favorite and something that only a few would know me by. It became an intimate nickname that lasted.

George expressed our confusion. The lawyer looked at each of, a smile spreading over his face. “Perhaps I did not clearly identify the reason for our meeting, then. What you each are holding is a copy of Mr. Thrower’s Last Will and Testament. The page indicated by the tab is the portion that concerns you. Each of you are specifically included in his will.”

I was shocked and I could hear by the gasp from Helen that the Taylors were also. We took care of him but we weren’t family. Surely, our inclusion was some token gesture on his part. I didn’t know much about such things but on TV it was often depicted as a room full of people. This was only us. I blurted that out. He smiled, again.

“There may be a side-branch relative out there somewhere, he didn’t know anyone, and we couldn’t find anyone. It didn’t matter, anyway.” I looked at him puzzled and as he looked at the other two, they must have been giving him similar questioning looks. He chuckled, “I was puzzled by his wishes at first until I saw it with my own eyes. Your reactions are exactly why his wishes make all the sense. The three of you gave yourselves up to caring for him. It became a 24/7 responsibility that wasn’t yours to have or to assume, it wasn’t what you were hired to do. But, you did it with grace, care, and with supreme love.” He shook his head as he went quiet and it was clear he was reflecting on something. When he spoke, again, his voice was soft and gentle. “When I reported back to him that there was no reason why his wishes would not be honored in court, if challenged … it was the happiest I had seen him for … well, since his illness really took hold.”

He straightened himself and asked us to open our documents to the marked page and to follow along. I was still expecting whatever he was giving to be some token expression of gratitude. The discussion about future schooling or a job came to mind and I considered that possibility. We sat and listened, following along, as he read the appropriate sections. Very soon, though, my eyes weren’t focusing and my mouth was slack in shock, complete and utter shock. This was no token gesture or even a trust for schooling. What he had done was will us his estate and a tremendously large financial portfolio. We each received a third. The attorney informed us that this represented approximately 60% of his holdings. It was staggering. And it was only 20%?

The other 40% was in foundations, trusts, and various causes. Many of which he was on Boards of. His wish, but not a requirement, was that the three of us, with the attorney’s assistance and guidance, take all those duties and functions over. He wanted us to assume the face of the estate. I was still stunned, but I knew that for this man, I would do anything. And, I had a lot of growing up or maturing to do. But, I knew Helen, George, and the attorney would be partners and allies.

* * *

I looked into their eyes. The story was done. In a way, it had exhausted me. It is strange how opening yourself completely, baring all that you were, can drain you as you wonder if those listening will still respect you, still love you, and still hold you in the same light. But, as I looked into each of their eyes, I could see the truth. That truth was that our relationship was made stronger. My original hope in telling the story was for them to learn what my experiences had been in order for them to better understand how they might provide challenges to me. As the story went on, it became clear to me, and to them by their comments, that the story was instead setting the foundation for our loving relationship of sharing, respect, and caring. If sexual challenges and adventures were to be in our relationship, that was not going to be the reason for the relationship. If the realization of that change was something of a disappointment on one hand, it was smoothed over by the warm confidence in the strength of our relationship now. I could feel the reassurance in all of us. And, I concluded the story.

“My life changed forever in that moment. I came to the estate as a dog-bitch; I was now a Lady of the Estate.

“Initially, it was almost too much to digest. I remained in the little maid’s room for several days, not thinking anything of it. It was Helen and George who finally moved me into the master bedroom that had been Mr. Thrower’s. They were comfortable in their room and it was nearly identical, anyway. That, of course, was the room that Dori now has. The house, the estate, had been Mr. Thrower. Even in his illness, the place was him. Without him, it seemed without the character it once had. It took us months, if not longer, to be convinced that that character could still be alive if we maintained it in attitude and devotion to the causes he represented. That became our approach.

“We were new to the responsibilities of the foundations, causes, and events of society. It took us much more effort and time than it should have. But, in our minds, what we did and how we did it would be a reflection on Mr. Thrower. That was the time that we hired help for the estate. That was when you came to be with us. One at a time, but you came.

“By that time, the Taylors and I had already become deep and intimate friends. We became more regular lovers, as well. With no jealousy on their part, I become a loving partner to both of them. The dogs become less a part of my experience as they aged and they were not replaced. But, while we had the dogs, I still spent occasional nights with them, in the same manner as when I first arrived. It became less and less frequent, however.

“And, that is how I became ‘the lady of the estate’ after George Taylor died and I began taking care of Helen. The rest you know intimately because by that time you were already familiar with the estate. George had an air that caused a separation. Once he was gone, that disappeared and you became more important to both Helen and me.”

I was relieved it was concluded. I now wondered what lay ahead for us. What changes could we now expect? None of us could possibly be the same now, not after this, not after becoming lords and lady of the estate in same surprising way I had. I leaned back in my chair, smiling. I was at peace. I was happy.

THE END

Thank you for reading.